Marisa Carroll - Hotel Marchand 09 (17 page)

He gathered up his paperwork, dumped it on his desk to deal with in the morning and headed back out of his cubbyhole office to the front desk, where Damien Homier was just checking in for the night shift. “You two holding down the fort tonight?” he observed, returning his shotgun and ammunition to the gun safe in the corner. He spun the combination lock and initialed the weapons log that Billy Paul held out to him.

“Just the two of us to keep each other awake.” Billy Paul, fat, bald and fifty, but still the best drummer in the parish, shoved the weapons log back in the desk.

“I’ll be heading out on patrol in another hour or so.” Damien Homier was young and eager. He’d make a good cop someday. Now he found Indigo too tame for his liking, but that would change, Alain thought with a wry grin.

“Take care of yourself. I’ll be at home if you need me.”

“Hey, Chief. Just remembered.” Billy Paul grabbed a yellow sticky note that had been affixed to his radio and handed it over the four-foot-high plywood divider that was all that separated them from the citizenry of Indigo. “It’s a note from your mom. Says to check your voice mail for messages and to get home right away.”

Five minutes later Alain wheeled the Explorer into the driveway. There were lights on all over the house. His mother met him at the kitchen door. “You got my message?” she asked without preamble.

“Yeah, just now. I’ve had my phone off all day. There wasn’t any decent signal out in the boonies where I was, and I didn’t want the battery to run down. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” She looked worried but her voice was calm and she moved back into the kitchen in a normal, unhurried manner. Thirty years of working in a hospital ER gave you nerves of steel. “There was a message from Guy on the answering machine when I got home. He’s in Biloxi!” Her calm deserted her for a moment as her voice rose. “He was calling from one of those walk-in clinics. It’s okay,” she said hurriedly. “Dana’s sick. Tummy troubles, nothing serious. They’re on their way back now, I guess. He’s not answering his cell. How in heaven’s name did he get to Biloxi? I called Marie but she hadn’t heard anything. She’s more in the dark than I am.”

Alain had tried Guy’s cell first thing after he’d turned on his own, but he’d had no better luck connecting than his mother. “I don’t have too many more details. Here, listen to Guy’s message.” She put the cell to her ear. He didn’t have to listen. He’d already memorized the words.

Dad, it’s Guy. There’s a problem. Casey Jo’s car broke down. She’s in Biloxi and Dana’s not feeling well. She wants to get home on time like she promised. I…I told her I’d help. I found someone to take me to get them. It’s…it’s Miss Sophie. I’ll call you back when I get there. Don’t worry, Dad. She’s a good driver.

The second message was short and to the point:
Dad, my battery’s running down. The doctor says Dana’s okay. It’s about four o’clock. We’re heading home
. A slight pause, then the words that had stuck in Alain’s brain ever since.
All four of us
.

Cecily handed the phone back to him. “Sophie Clarkson? He asked her before he called me?” If he hadn’t been bone-tired and still getting over the scare of his life from that yellow sticky note, he’d have given a lot of money for a picture of the look of consternation and pique that flashed across his mother’s face.

“I’m sure he thought of you first, but even if you could have gotten someone to cover the rest of your shift, it would have taken you at least forty-five minutes to get back here. He was using his head.” Alain felt himself beginning to uncoil a little, the cold, hard knot of fear that had settled in his gut thawing slightly. “My guess is that it’s got something to do with the talk we had last night. He’s trying to make amends for always thinking the worst of her actions all these years.”

“That’s because she usually does—”

“Mom, that’s not going to do any good.”

“I know. I know. When do you think they’ll be back?” she asked, glancing at the rooster-decorated clock that had hung above the sink for as long as Alain could remember. “It’s almost seven.”

“It’s four hundred miles there and back, or as close as doesn’t matter. Probably eight or eight-thirty. Not much sooner than that.”

“Four hours cooped up in the same car with Casey Jo,” Cecily said, worrying her lower lip. “How will Sophie handle it?” There were other questions he could see lurking in her brown eyes but she didn’t ask them.

“I think she’ll handle it just fine.” But deep inside he wasn’t so sure.

“M
ARIE
,
it’s Cecily. I’m calling to ask if you’ve heard anything from Casey Jo?” She flipped the heavy braid over her shoulder. Maybe it was time to get her hair cut. The weight of it was giving her headaches. Or maybe it was stress. She had surely had enough of that to deal with lately.

“Not a word. But she doesn’t have a phone plan. She pays by the minute so she only uses her cell for emergencies. Is everything okay? Are they on their way back home?”

“As far as I know. Alain’s here now and he had a couple of voice messages from Guy on his phone. They took Dana to a walk-in clinic. She’s doing fine. It was probably just too much of everything. You know she’s got a delicate stomach. Evidently, it was Sophie Clarkson who drove Guy to Biloxi.”

“Sophie Clarkson?”

“Yes, Sophie.” Cecily smiled. She surely must love Alain to have volunteered for such a task, especially if it meant being cooped up in a car with his ex-wife for four or five hours.

“Well, it should be interesting when she butts heads with Casey Jo.”

Cecily’s smiled faded. “I just wanted to let you know everything’s okay,” she said rather more sharply than necessary. “Alain thinks they’ll be back around eight or so.”

“Then, we’d better get moving.”

“Moving? What are you talking about?”

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. We either get those drugs out of Past Perfect tonight or we forget about it. Sophie Clarkson is reopening the store tomorrow morning. They’re fixing the security system. We’ve been over this and over this.”

Stomach acid began to churn and work its way up Cecily’s esophagus.

“Go tell Alain you’re going over to your mother’s to explain what’s going on so you don’t tie up the phones,” Marie instructed. “She’ll be your alibi just like we discussed before. Leave your car at her place and walk from there. I’ll meet you behind the diner. Bring a flashlight. And, oh yeah, wear black.”

She disconnected and Cecily was left with a dial tone ringing in her ear.

Twenty minutes later she was in the alley behind the Blue Moon, waiting for Marie to make an appearance. It was dark and had rained off and on all day so there were puddles here and there waiting to trip her up and soak her shoes. She looked around a little nervously. Even in Indigo, where a lot of people didn’t bother to lock their doors at night, it was a scary to be in a dark alley alone.

Cars passed in the street, and she could hear the voices of people coming and going from the General Store and the gas station, the only businesses open on a Sunday evening, but she still felt alone and vulnerable and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. She had just made up her mind to go home and forget this whole ridiculous business when Marie drove up and parked in her usual space beside the back door of the restaurant. She got out and was momentarily illuminated by the security light above the door.

“Mon Dieu,”
Cecily breathed. “She looks like Cat Woman.” Marie’s dark pants and sweater were skin-tight and, damn it, she didn’t look half bad for a woman her age.

Cecily stepped out of the shadows. “Why did I have to walk and you drive up and park back here like it was no big thing?” she hissed.

Marie plopped her hand over her heart. “Good Lord, you just scared me out of a year’s growth.”

“Good, then we’re even,” Cecily snapped back. “I don’t much like standing out here in the dark, either.”

“I parked here because it’s where I always park and people are used to seeing my car here even when the diner’s closed. You left your car at your mother’s place so you’ll have an alibi.” Marie reached into the back seat and pulled out a lumpy bundle tied up in dark cloth.

“What do you have there?” Cecily asked.

Marie shut the car door. “Burglary tools.” She started off at a brisk pace. A block up and they would intersect with the alley that ran behind the opera house. As long as no one saw them cross Jackson Street, they would be okay.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s insane. It’s only seven-thirty. No one robs a building at seven-thirty in the evening.”

“We are,” Marie said.

“We should be doing this in the middle of the night.”

“It’s as dark as it’s going to get. Besides, once Casey Jo and the kids get back, there’ll be no getting away again tonight. Not as long as Dana’s not feeling well, you know you won’t leave her. I told you, this is our last chance. Now stop looking for excuses to wimp out and run home.”

“I’m not looking for excuses to wimp out,” Cecily insisted, although it was a bald-faced lie.

Marie looked both ways, put her fingers to her lips, and motioned for Cecily to follow her across the deserted street. “Do you really think you could get out of the house in the middle of the night without waking Alain? I bet he sleeps with his eyes open.”

“He does no such thing,” Cecily insisted loyally. But Marie was right about one thing. Alain was a light sleeper, especially with a fussy child in the next room. He would hear her if she got up and left the house in the middle of the night. “There’s quite a bit of traffic around the square,” she whispered. “Someone will surely see our flashlights.” She was already out of breath and they were still two blocks from the opera house.

“Not unless they’re flying by the windows. You know they’re at least eight feet off the ground everywhere but the lobby.”

“I know,” Cecily said. Marie had just shot down her last argument and she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The opera house loomed over them, a dark bulk against the darker sky. The windows caught glints of light from street lamps in the square, but everything else was in shadow.

“How are we going to get inside?” Cecily said under her breath. She hated being so passive but she simply had no idea how to go about breaking and entering.

“There’s a window behind the stage with a broken lock.”

“How do you know that?” She was completely out of breath now, and her bad knee had begun to ache. Why shouldn’t it? Most cat burglars weren’t fifty-six-year-old women who had already put in an eight-hour shift in a busy hospital emergency room.

“Your mother told me,” Marie hissed back. “Maude told her about it just before she died. She told me at the wake. Maude never had a chance to get it fixed.”

“Our lucky day,” Cecily said morosely.

“Exactly. That and the fact that Damien Homier’s on duty tonight and not Alain. Homier’s dumber than a box of rocks.”

Cecily didn’t share her companion’s low estimation of Alain’s newest employee’s intelligence, but she remained silent. Marie climbed the rickety metal fire escape that crisscrossed the back of the building, pausing at the landing at the top of the first flight of steps. Just as Cecily remembered, there wasn’t a window that opened onto the fire escape. The nearest one was at least two feet to the left of the waist-high railing.

“Grab my belt,” Marie ordered as she tested the railing. “I need some leverage for this.” Cecily grasped her belt with both hands, ignored the pain in her knees, and set her feet. Marie leaned as far over the railing as she could and began to work the thin end of the crowbar under the window frame. Cecily mentally ran through the procedures for treating broken bones and concussion.

With two horrendous squeaks, which Cecily was sure anyone in the town square—and even Damien Homier over at the station—could hear, the window slid open.

“There,” Marie said, panting with exertion. “We’re in.”

“How?” But Cecily was afraid she knew.

“Climb onto the railing and slither through the window on your belly. Ready?”

“I suppose so.” Slither? She hadn’t been the size to slither through anything for about fifteen years. Now she wished she’d told Marie how to immobilize a broken leg. Or warned the other woman not to let her swallow her tongue when she went into a seizure from landing on her head when she fell out of the window.

Marie climbed onto the railing, angled her body into the window and pushed through. Two agonizing minutes later Cecily landed beside her on the dark, dusty floor. She sat with her back against the wall, gasping for breath and trying to decide if she’d broken a rib or only cracked one.

“Are you okay?” Marie whispered, shining her flashlight straight down at the floor for a brief moment while she searched Cecily’s face.

“I think so. You’d better call Alain right now to come and arrest us because I’m not going back through that window.”

Marie reached out and hoisted Cecily to her feet. “Put your hand on my shoulder, and don’t trip and sprain an ankle. Then we’d really be in trouble. Here’s the curtain. Be careful climbing down off the stage.”

Cecily kept her mouth shut with an effort. She would like nothing more than to give Marie Lesatz a piece of her mind, but the truth of the matter was she was totally out of her element and Marie wasn’t. She was moving through the Stygian blackness as if it was broad daylight. Cecily couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

Light from nearby streetlamps shone in through the high windows of the auditorium, allowing them to see vague shapes in the gloom. They hurried up the aisle toward the dark piles of furniture that Guy and his friends had so painstakingly rearranged to Sophie’s satisfaction.

“I’m going to turn on my flashlight,” Cecily decided. “This place is a minefield of glass and china. I don’t want to break anything.”

“Okay,” Marie said, not bothering to whisper. “Just keep it pointed down. We don’t want anyone glancing up at the windows and seeing our lights flashing around.”

Cecily had had enough. “I know that much. What I don’t know is how you learned so much about breaking and entering?”

“I watch a lot of TV crime shows.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Turn your light off—I’m going to open the doors. When I do, stay low.”

She moved purposefully toward the big double doors, opened one, with more ear-splitting squeals of old hinges, and slipped into the showroom. Cecily wasn’t good at crouching so she got down on her hands and knees and crawled behind the counter. Marie was halfway to the big highboy where Sophie had arranged the contraband toys before Cecily began to follow. “They’re here,” Marie whispered. “Make sure no one’s walking by outside. I’m going to have to stand up to get them.”

Cecily scurried forward and crouched below the front door. Already three cars had driven by, their headlights giving her palpitations when they flickered through the windows. She lifted her head and looked first right, then left. “Coast’s clear,” she hissed.

She heard the rustle of plastic as Marie pulled a shopping bag out of her back pocket. She kept her eyes on the street and resisted the temptation of turning her head to watch Marie scoop the toys into her sack.

“Got them!” Marie crowed.

“Wait! A car’s coming.” Horror tightened Cecily’s insides. This time the car passing by wasn’t an ordinary one. It was a patrol car. Not Alain’s Explorer, thank goodness. But a police car, nonetheless. And it was stopping outside. “It’s Damien Homier. He must have decided to start his patrol early. Get down. Hurry!”

She heard a little plop as Marie dropped to the floor. But there was no time for Cecily to get back to the relative safety of the counter and the dark shadows of the auditorium. She scooted behind a table and pulled the lacy tablecloth around her as best she could. Footsteps sounded on the porch boards. A flashlight beam cut across the room. Someone rattled the doorknob. Cecily sucked in her breath and wondered if her heart was beating loud enough to be heard through the door.

Evidently not, because after another rattle, the beefy outline of Indigo’s rookie police officer disappeared from the far wall. Cecily couldn’t hear his retreating footsteps as he left the porch because the blood was still pounding in her ears. Straining, she heard a door slam and the blessed sound of a car pulling away from the curb.

She caught movement as Marie crawled toward her. She laid her hand on Cecily’s arm.

“C’mon,” Marie whispered so quietly Cecily could scarcely hear her. “We have to go.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and crawled as quickly as her aching knees would allow into the musty darkness of the auditorium. Marie eased the crack in the big doors shut and turned the latch so slowly it barely made a protest.

She slumped against the wall, the bag of little animals between her outstretched legs.

Cecily pulled her legs up and laid her forehead on her knees. It had always been so simple: the members of their little smuggling ring got their medication at reasonable prices, Cecily’s cousin got five percent of the cost of each prescription from the members of the group for her time and trouble, the toys, relieved of their contraband burden, got a good home with grandkids and nieces and nephews, and everyone went away happy. Well, except maybe for Byron McKee, the town druggist, but you couldn’t please everyone all the time.

Marie stood up and held out her hand to help Cecily to her feet. “Come on. We’d better get out of here before Homier decides to check the back side of the building and finds the window open.”

“Don’t even think it.” Cecily shuddered as an image played in her mind’s eye of Marie and her, coats over their heads, hands handcuffed behind their backs, being perp-walked into Alain’s jail. She didn’t watch as much TV as Marie, but she’d seen such arrests often enough on the evening news to make the vision frighteningly real.

Actually, it didn’t turn out to be quite that bad.

At least, Cecily thought, as she raised both hands over her head and walked out onto the fire escape ahead of the flabbergasted young policeman, he hadn’t caught her with her fanny hanging out of the window, dangling fifteen feet off the ground. No, he’d been waiting halfway up the fire escape, only his shocked face and drawn gun was visible as Marie stuck her head out of the window to reconnoiter their escape route.

“Police,” he said, not loudly at all. “Don’t move.”

“Run!” Marie kicked the bag of stuffed animals blindly in Cecily’s direction, then raised both her hands, all the time bent over like a pretzel with her head out the window.